


A Study in Dreams

by writerforlife



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Achilles really loves Patroclus let me tell you, Introspection, M/M, POV Achilles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 13:17:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8250454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerforlife/pseuds/writerforlife
Summary: Achilles often dreams of Patroclus.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a super quick drabble I wrote during Hurricane Matthew. Hope it's good!

I dream of Patroclus often.

Many times he is a storm: beguiling, beautiful, deadly. He is a raincloud, gray and grim and full of unshed sadness. He breaks, letting his tears pour over the Earth and me. I stand in the eye of the storm, letting his gusts blow me over time and time again. His winds, his fancies, the only things capable of levelling me with the dirt.

In other instances, he is a calm summer day at the beach. He whispers,  _ “To the sea, to the sea.” _ I oblige him, as I always do. The waters are cool, calm, devoid of fury. There, I could drown happily and thank him for my death. He would never steal my heartbeats, though. I go with his currents, in and out, back and forward, giving myself to him. I melt into the ocean, and he is all that is left.

Sometimes he is a corpse, face half sunken in and eyes blank as an empty sky. When it is this, is name is all that is left in my world, a bitter taste to remind me of what is gone. Of who is gone. His blood drenches the Earth, staining the roots of all that is beautiful. The flowers weep with me and pass with him. I am always alone and without the best part of myself. 

Yet nearly always, he is gloriously alive. His radiance blinds me. Sometimes, just seeing him is difficult, for I know how far I would go for him. In my dreams, I burn villages, cross mountains and Gods, and hold the weight of the world on my shoulders so his lungs will fill with air once again.

Sometimes he hates me. He is a tower of fury, the judge and jury. Sometimes he will look upon me and see the blood on my hands with clarity. He is more beautiful when he hates me. Is it wrong to find divinity in loyalty? To find poison in kindness, or a dagger in safety?

That is only on bad nights. My best dreams are where we are side by side, hand in hand. I push his hair away from his face and kiss him until we are both breathless. He tastes like fresh fruit, sweet wine, and the sea. I run my hands over his sun-kissed skin, let my fingers dance along his chest. I always see his eyes, bright as the stars in the night sky, perhaps even brighter. 

He is a bird, soaring in the sky, his wings unclipped. He is a shadow, lurking behind me wherever I go, whispering in my ear, reminding me of all the ways I could fail him. He is a golden king, turning all darkness to light. He is death itself, an irreversible sentence placed upon me. He is sunlight. Happiness. Love. Beauty. Goodness.

He is my Patroclus. When I wake and find him next to me, he is all I want, and all I could ever need. 


End file.
